I love my best of you
through the vestiges of your spring
make me, who has
the wind still in his wrinkles,
sing of how we love the silk softness
of our whiten hair,
chance with me the rite of our fingers through it,
entomb us in that raging, mad,
that sacred dance
Tishani Doshi (b. 1975) is an Indian writer, dancer and journalist. I read a lyrical song inspired by a statuie by Alberto
Edward sadà that this is an unusually good In memoriam. The materiality of the words is of course Celanesque. I also see word play. Pillows where you would expect pillages. Thou where I saw dew. Hirsch describes a bright flower spectacle to convey the idea that our culture’s memory of Celan will outlive us all. …
David biography. I read some stuff about relationships: When A Woman Loves A Man When she says Margarita she means Daiquiri. When she says quixotic she means mercurial. And when she says, “I’ll never speak to you again,” she means, “Put your arms around me from behind as I stand disconsolate at the window.” He’s …
Giving in to the social media requirement of visuality and brevity, I also publish poetry on – Instagram. There are a lot of so called “instapoets” but in my humble opinion they are not exactly innovative and their language sounds pretty dull to me. As it happens – and this doesn’t contradict my modesty – my …
Denise Duhamel (b. 1961) is a poet from Rhode Island who experiments with form and subject, and engages in pop culture. Influences are Dylan Snow White’s acne and
Anna Thilda May, “May”
Dana Gioia (b. 1950) is an American poet and writer. I found her theoretical poem about Words for a friend with whom I have an ongoing conversation about language and the other of language. Words The world does not need words. It articulates itself in sunlight, leaves, and shadows. The stones on the path are no less …
Sonia Sanchez (b. 1934) is a prolific African American author of twelve poetry books and lots of other stuff. Associated with the Black Arts Movement. I read a short meditation on life and love because I feel like that today: Personal Letter No. 3 nothing will keep us young you know not young men or …
Paul Celan (1920-1970) is of course the best German poet who has ever lived. I don’t read the canonical ‘Todesfuge’ here, you can find excellent
Today I felt something again.
It has been a while.
I felt something while listening to music:
Elation, Otherworldliness. Fate.
Nizar Wikipedia). I read a simple love poem, translated by B. Frangieh And C. Brown, that sounds unmistakenly Arabic: In the summer In the summer I stretch out on the shore And think of you Had I told the sea What I felt for you, It would have left its shores, Its shells, Its fish, And …
to the light.
there is no landscape but
a row of black I totem poles
absolution dogs us in complex fugues
played on a mole’s sleeping belly
mad frogs wearing unreliable diapers
augur a couple more dimensions
in which we thrive like ferns in giant forests
(we eat the lumens)
and keep patenting that impossible is nothing